Damn.
He clutched his bound hands to his chest. It will pass. It will pass. How many times now? Try to remember, Jacob! Five. This was the fifth. One more bite. There couldn’t be much left of his heart.
“What is this?” The Bastard looked anxiously at Jacob’s pain-stricken face. “Did Louis give you anything to drink?”
Jacob could have laughed, if he’d had any breath left. Not a baseless suspicion. The royal house of Lotharaine had a long tradition of poisoning its enemies.
The Bastard pulled Jacob’s hands from his chest and tore his shirt open. The moth was now as black as the onyx in Nerron’s skin, and the red outline of its skull-spotted wings looked like fresh blood.
Nerron recoiled as though he was afraid to contaminate himself.
Jacob leaned against the cave wall. The pain was subsiding, but he probably made quite a pitiable sight. Was this what the Red Fairy had in mind when she’d whispered her sister’s name in his ear? Had she pictured this while she kissed him? That he’d be writhing like a wounded animal, paying with his agony for her pain? Only that she wasn’t going to die of her broken heart.
She has no heart, Jacob.
Nerron poured out the wine he’d brought, and filled the beaker with a brown liquid. “Drink slowly,” he instructed Jacob before putting the beaker in his bound hands. “I’m not sure your stomach can take Goyl spirits.”
It tasted like sugared lava.
The Bastard pushed the cork back into the bottle. “I have to be careful Louis doesn’t find this. He’d kill himself with it, and his father would execute me. This was the Dark One, I assume? I always wondered how you managed to steal your brother from under her nose.” He put the bottle back in his sack. “The third bolt… you want the crossbow for yourself! What if that story is just a myth?”
“I tried everything else.” Jacob forced down another gulp of Goyl liquor. It warmed better than any blanket.
“The apple? The well?”
“Yes.”
“What about Djinn blood? The ones from the north. Quite dangerous, but…”
“Didn’t work.”
The Bastard shook his head. “Doesn’t your mother tell you to stay away from the Fairies?”
“My mother knew nothing of Fairies.” Jacob ignored the curiosity in the golden eyes. What was the matter with him? Was he now going to tell his life story to the Goyl? Just one more bite. Maybe he’d die before he saw Fox again. He’d always assumed she’d be with him when he died. Not Will. Not the Fairy. Always the vixen.
Nerron got up. “I hope you’re not so stupid to think I’d let you have the crossbow as some kind of noble gesture.”
Jacob pulled his shirt over the moth. “You haven’t found it yet.”
The Goyl smiled.
His eyes said, I shall find it. Before you. And you will die.
“What would you be searching for? If you weren’t busy trying to outrun death?”
Yes, what, Jacob? He was surprised by his own answer. “An Hourglass.”
The Bastard rubbed his cracked skin. “I wouldn’t be racing you for that one. Which moment could be worth holding on to forever?” He touched the rock as though searching his memory for one that might have been worth it.
“What would you like to find most?” Jacob’s chest was still numb with pain.
The Goyl looked at him. “A door,” he said finally. “To another world.”
Jacob suppressed a smile. “Really? What’s so bad about this one? And why should another be any better?”
The Bastard shrugged and looked at his speckled hand. “It’s my mother’s fault. She told me too many stories. The worlds in them were all better.”
Behind them, Louis was beginning to snore. He was turning more moody and irascible with every day. A side effect of toad spawn, as Jacob had learned from Alma. Paranoia was another. Both not uncommon character traits in a king’s son.
“I don’t ask much!” Nerron said. “Having no princes would already make it a better world. And no onyx lords. I could also do without Thumblings… and it should have deep, uninhabited caves.”
He turned away. “We all have our dreams, right?”
55
NOT THE PLAN
“And where in this mess is the palace supposed to appear?” Louis pulled the spyglass from Nerron’s hand and pointed it at the ruins of the Dead City, which were barely visible beneath the dense clouds that had settled between the mountains.
“The palace stood above the city.” Lelou brushed some hailstones from his thin hair. “At the end of that road with the Dragon kennels.” Of course. The Bug could probably draw an exact map of the Dead City.
The dog man brought Reckless. He had tied his hands behind his back and had, on Louis’ orders, also tied a noose around his neck. Louis still resented their prisoner for having questioned his treasure-hunting abilities.
“Lock him in the carriage!” he ordered, rubbing his red eyes.
The dog man obeyed his orders more readily than Eaumbre. He used every opportunity to treat the prisoner worse than his dogs. A casual kick here, an elbow to the ribs there, or a shove with the butt of his rifle. Even now he pushed Reckless so hard that he smashed his face bloody on the side of the carriage. It was obvious that Louis was enjoying the show.
“What is this?” Nerron hissed at him. “He’s only useful to us alive. Do I really have to keep explaining this?”
The toad spawn had turned the princely smile green.
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Goyl,” he hissed back. “I’ve had enough of your explanations for a while now.”
Nerron felt the muzzle of a pistol in his back. Judging from the height, it was Lelou who was pressing it into his spine.
“I told my father a hundred times! The Goyl should all be roasted until their stone skins crack. Sadly, the old man is afraid of your lot!” Louis sneered. “Lelou tells me you’ve been sitting with Reckless every night. You’re suspiciously friendly to him, but you can’t fool me. What’s the plan? Even splits when you both sell the crossbow to Albion?”
The dog man yanked Nerron’s arms back, and Milkbeard trained his gun at Eaumbre. He was as dumb as he was strong, but he was a surprisingly good shot.
Louis gave Nerron a look that contained all the arrogance of his ancestry, and also the recalcitrance of a seventeen-year-old who still felt immortal. A dangerous mix.
“I will find that crossbow for my father,” he announced while the dog man tied up Nerron so tight, it felt as though he was trying cut his stone skin with the rope, “And Albion will finally stop acting like they own the world. But first we deal with the Goyl.”
Oh, it would have all been so easy had he just killed Louis and Lelou in Vena. Your aversion to killing is becoming a hindrance, Nerron.
“Who plotted this?” He tasted his own rage like blood on his tongue. “Lelou?”
The Bug blushed, flattered. “Oh no. This is entirely the plan of His Highness.” He shot Louis a nervous smile. “He’s not very experienced in treasure hunting, but he was right to point out that we are searching for the crossbow of his ancestor. I merely suggested we don’t kill you and Reckless quite yet. After all…”
“…We still have to squeeze you for everything you know.” The dog man exposed his teeth, which were as yellow as those of his charges. “About the hidden palace… about the crossbow. And all that… the prince thinks I should be in charge of that.” He gave Louis a devoted smile and managed a plump bow. “The Waterman is the expert,” he added, “but the prince is convinced, and rightly so, that you can’t trust the scale-faces any more than the stone-skins.”
“Yes, yes, that’s fine. Why are you telling him all that?” Louis dabbed a pinch of elven dust into his nose. The stash in his saddlebag seemed inexhaustible. “First w
e take the heart off the vixen. Lock the Goyl in the carriage with Reckless.”
It took all three of them to tie up the Waterman. They tied him to one of the wheels, just as they used to do with Reckless. The dog man dragged Nerron to the carriage.
“The prince is right, Goyl!” he whispered before slamming the door shut. “You should all be roasted. Those will be good times, when he is king.”
“Get the horses!” Nerron heard Louis say with a heavy tongue.
Reckless was lying on one of the benches, his face swollen from its encounter with the carriage.
“That wasn’t quite the plan, was it?” he asked.
56
GIANTLING RAGE
There they came. Fox stepped back from the fence, which the farmers had erected to keep their livestock away from the cursed ruins. The wind blew from the direction of the dead streets, and it drove ice and hail into her face. Everything around her was spelling one word into the night: calamity.
The men riding toward the watchtower were the same ones Fox had seen behind the Witch’s stable, but as they rode closer, she noticed that the Goyl wasn’t among them. Nor was Jacob.
“Calm!” Valiant whispered to her. “It means nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
Yet Fox felt as though someone were forging iron rings around her heart.
He wasn’t with them.
They had killed him.
No, Fox!
They were four. All well armed. The Waterman was also missing, but they had brought the bloodhounds, and Fox was glad she wasn’t wearing fur. One of the men was very young, and another one was barely taller than Valiant. Fox recognized Louis of Lotharaine from the pictures of him standing by his father’s side. In the pictures he’d looked much taller. Fox could smell elven dust and toad spawn as he reined in his horse just a few steps away from her.
“You’re the vixen.”
It was half question, half stated fact. Louis’s voice was as unpleasant as his face. “A Dwarf? Is that all the reinforcements you could muster?”
The man with the dogs uttered a barking laugh.
Valiant gave Louis an indulgent smile. It was every Dwarf’s curse and blessing to be underestimated for his size. “Evenaugh Valiant. And with whom do I have the pleasure?”
Louis swayed in his saddle as he pushed back his jacket to reveal the gem-encrusted hilt of his saber.
“Louis Philippe Charles Roland, crown prince of Lotharaine.”
“Impressive!” Valiant replied. “But we Dwarfs, we’re all republicans. I hope you don’t take it personally. Anyway—” he looked searchingly past the prince, “—we had actually arranged to meet a Goyl.”
The bloodhounds were watching Fox. They were not as easily deceived by her body as humans were.
“Where is Jacob?” She’d promised the Dwarf to leave the talking to him, but she was done waiting.
The prince stared at her with that mixture of disgust and desire every shape-shifter was all too familiar with.
“Where do you have the heart?” he barked at her. “I bet you have it hidden under your clothes, like your fur.”
The hounds bared their fangs, and Louis gave the dog man a nod.
Valiant turned to the watchtower and gave a shrill whistle.
Two lumbering figures stepped out of the shadows behind the tower. The Giantlings had ice all over their clothes, and they stared rather unkindly at Louis. Nowhere had Giants once lived in as large numbers as in Lotharaine, and nowhere had they been hunted with as much abandon. Crookback had a collection of Giants’ heads, which he still liked to show off during state events.
“Yes, I was forewarned,” Valiant said while Louis tried to calm his shying horse. “I’ve had the dubious pleasure of doing business with your father. Why should I trust his son any more?”
The taller of the Giantlings gave a disapproving grunt, and one of the horses reared up.
It was the dog man who fired the shot. Maybe he was afraid for his bloodhounds, who were barking so furiously at the Giantling that he took a lumbering step toward them. The bullet hit him in the center of his broad brow. His collapsing hulk buried the shooter as well as his dogs.
The other Giantling howled out with rage.
He yanked the prince from his saddle and shook him like a rag doll, his other fist blindly flailing about. He killed the baby face with one swipe; Fox could hear his neck snap. Valiant only just managed to jump to safety, and she retreated between the shying horses to find some shelter from the raging Giantling. In his fury, he trampled the rifle that had killed his companion, until its metal stuck to his soles like wilted leaves. Then he threw himself to his knees next to the lifeless body and wiped the blood from the shot-up forehead.
“Like a Giantling’s vengeance,” the saying went—for good reason.
Louis was spread-eagled on the trampled earth and, like the servant with the baby face, he was not moving. But the Bug Man was crawling on all fours to his master, staring in distress at the waxen face. Behind him, Valiant was groaning as he struggled to his feet, cursing all Giantlings.
The prince had two swindlesacks on his belt. Fox took them before the Dwarf got hold of them. She put her pistol to the Bug’s head.
“Where is your prisoner?”
Louis stirred. The Bug Man sighed with relief and ran his spidery fingers over his master’s face. “The carriage,” he stammered. His eyes were full of tears. Fox couldn’t tell whether they were tears of rage or of fear.
She caught one of the horses, ignoring Valiant’s calls.
The trail was easy to follow. A herd of cows wouldn’t have left clearer tracks, but the dark clouds over the mountains made it hard even for her to spot the carriage beneath the pines. The Waterman was tied to one of the wheels. Good. The scent of his scaly skin reminded Fox of the many damp caves she and Jacob had searched for abducted girls. When the Waterman spotted her, he started yanking angrily at his fetters, but Fox just walked past him.
Her hands trembled as she tore open the carriage door. The Bastard was all but invisible; only his eyes glinted through the dark like coins. Jacob’s face was streaked with blood, but he seemed unhurt otherwise. Fox cut his ropes. He stumbled as he climbed out of the carriage. Fox had seen this kind of exhaustion before.
“How often?”
He rubbed his battered face and attempted a smile. “I really am glad to see you. Where is Valiant?”
“How often, Jacob? Answer me!”
He took her hands. His fingers were cold. It’s a cold night, Fox. It means nothing. But she could see death all over his face.
“One bite to go.”
Just one.
Breathe, Fox.
She pulled out the two swindlesacks she’d taken off Louis. She also gave Jacob the leather pouch where she kept the heart. This time his smile wasn’t quite as weary.
“You also look exhausted.” Jacob stroked her face. “Just as well this will all be over soon, one way or another. Right?”
He tucked the sacks into his coat pocket and leaned into the carriage.
“Keep searching,” Fox heard him say. “There is a door. No onyx on the other side, no Thumblings, but there are some princes. Only few of them wear crowns, though.”
“Cut me loose!” the Goyl replied with a hoarse voice. “Let’s find out once and for all which of us is the best.”
Jacob stepped back.
“Another time,” he said. “This one I can’t afford to lose.”
“You would have lost a long time ago if the vixen didn’t keep saving your skin!” The Goyl sounded like he was choking on his rage.
“That’s correct,” Jacob replied. “But it’s also nothing new.”
Then he slammed the carriage door shut.
57
HEAD. HAND. H
EART.
The Giantling had already covered the body of his companion with stones. He’d also arranged the bodies of the other dead at his feet like offerings: the kitchen hand, the dog man, and his two bloodhounds. The two who’d survived his rage lay bound and gagged by the wall of the watchtower: Louis and the Bug. Valiant was pacing up and down in front of them. He didn’t look happy at all.
“Look at that!” he yelled at Jacob. “What’ve you gotten me into this time? The Lotharainian crown prince! Luckily, he’s still alive, but that probably rules out Crookback as a buyer. Wasn’t it enough to make the Empress your enemy?”
Jacob felt Fox’s arms around him before she slipped off the horse. Her warmth lingered like a promise as he swung himself from the saddle.
All will be well.
He ignored Valiant’s muttering and went to the fence behind which the ruins lay. The Dead City. Not a place he’d ever wanted to see this close. Even Chanute had always steered clear of it. Jacob thought he could hear voices, some kind of chanting, interrupted by hoarse howls. Maybe the lunatics who lived among those ruins sensed that this was going to be a special night. Supposedly, it was enough to merely touch the walls to succumb to the same madness. Jacob’s eyes searched for a path through the dead streets that led up the mountain. The city once had thousands of inhabitants. He saw stairs and bridges, crumbling churches. He saw towers and houses, their empty windows outlined by will-o’-the-wisps, and palaces with walls pocked with the nests of plague finches—the only kind of bird that thrived in places like this. If the palace really appeared, it was going to be a long way to reach it. And Jacob could feel his life slipping away with every breath.
“I hear the Goyl’s still alive?” Valiant appeared by his side. “Why didn’t you shoot him? Competition’s good for business?”
“I’m not quite as quick with the shooting as you, remember?” Jacob looked at the watchtower.
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